90 Days Later

It's getting hard to keep track of how many days it's been since the abortion, since i'm not writing every day but i'm fudging the dates.

placenta sandwich said...

The counseling thing sort of shocks me. In my training and various jobs it's been the assumed standard of care. I've always known that procedures can vary quite a bit among clinics, but most of the people I've gotten to know in the field who worked at other places seemed to have the same expectations: sure, a lot of women might not need a whole lot of talking before or after, but it's better for a patient to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, so we should do our best to make sure the steps are described, the questions are answered, the aftercare is explained, and the patient has an idea of whether she'll cope well afterward. Blah, it makes me really upset that they didn't give you what you needed.

It was very , very clinical. When i say i felt like Patient X, i wasn't kidding...no one talked to me other than the formalities. Like when i made the phone call it was "okay here's the time slot, here's what you need to bring". Every question I had outside of the norm (mostly about the surgeon's lawsuit), everyone seemed clueless. Most of the women i dealt with were barely older than 27 i would guess, minus the actual medical people themselves (4 of those total, and that includes the surgeon). We were shuttled along like cattle.

In other news, I saw Chandler briefly last night, and damn he looked so good...it was hard to not picture what a baby with him would look like if i knew it was his or not. Damn him and life for not making thing different. Well, mostly him...a lot of things i feel were within his control, and still are.

I don't want to say i'm "over" the abortion, but it's such a distant memory to me. The only time it really gets to me is if i think of some of the sh*tty things Chandler has said to me, or when i imagine the surgery room...the pain in my hand...GOD i can still feel it if i think about it...and having your legs spread open, the door open, legs in stirrups, it was the most humiliating experience of my life, easily.